the God that you took from a printed book be with you,
Tomlinson!
Kipling - Poems
"We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed a chattering wind
And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot find:
We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone,
And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own. "
The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and rumbled deep and low:--
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid him go.
"Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place,
My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face;
They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless host,
And--I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a shiftless ghost. "
The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel the flame,
And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own good name:--
"Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry:
Did ye think of that theft for yourself? " said he; and Tomlinson said, "Ay! "
The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care:--
"Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, "but the roots of sin are
there,
And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone.
But sinful pride has rule inside--and mightier than my own.
"Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his priest and whore:
Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture sore.
"Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are neither book nor brute--
Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's repute.
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain,
But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come back again.
Get hence, the hearse is at your door--the grim black stallions wait--
They bear your clay to place today. Speed, lest ye come too late!
Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed--go back with an open eye,
And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die:
That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one--
And. . .
the God that you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson! "
* * * * * * *
BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS
Dedication
To T. A.
I have made for you a song,
And it may be right or wrong,
But only you can tell me if it's true;
I have tried for to explain
Both your pleasure and your pain,
And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
O there'll surely come a day
When they'll give you all your pay,
And treat you as a Christian ought to do;
So, until that day comes round,
Heaven keep you safe and sound,
And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
--R. K.
DANNY DEEVER
"What are the bugles blowin' for? " said Files-on-Parade.
"To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes you look so white, so white? " said Files-on-Parade.
"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
The regiment's in 'ollow square--they're hangin' him today;
They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,
An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard? " said Files-on-Parade.
